Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 13, Number 31, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 27 January 1883 — Page 3

THE MAILl

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TERRE HAUTE, JAN. 27, 1883

IMAGINARY EVILS.

X«et tomorrow take care of tomorrow: Ix»ve thingB of the fntureto fate, Whats the use to anticipate sorrow?

Life's troubles come never too late! If to hope over much be an error. Tf« one that the wise have preferred And^liow often have^hearts been in terror

Of evils that never occared.

Have faith—and thy faith will sustain thee— Permit not suspicion and care With iniSlble bonds to embrace thee,

But bear what God gives thee to bear, By this spirit supported and gladdened, Be ne'er by '-forebodings" deterred! But think how oft hearts have been saddened isy fear—of what never occurred!

Let tomorrow take care of tomorrow Short and dark as our life may appear, We may make it still shorter by sorrow-*

Still snorter by folly and fear! Half our troubles are half oar Invention, And often ffom blessing conferred Have we shrunk in wild apprehension

Of evils—that never occured.

Ross Beverly's Pledge.

BY CHRISTIAN RRID.

CHAPTER I.

"Let us go down to the lake," she said, in her peculiarly soft and rather plaintive voice. "I should like to see the sun set on the water, for the last time." "As you please," he answered, more gravely and quietly than Gerald Tremaine cften spoke.

Then they turned their faces from the monster hotel, the thundering band, the well-dressed people streaming here and there, the groups reading, talking or flirting on the lawn, and the ornate pavilion which overshadowed the spring with its minaret-like roof reddened by the setting sun. A path to the right branched off between hills green with the glory of midsummer verdure, and along this path Ross Beverley and Gerald Tremaiue took their way. Everything was very lovely around them, and they, on their part, seemed in fitting accord with the fair summer scene. The graceful girl, with her delicate, wild-rose faco, and the tall handsome man who strolled boside her, were not only remarkable, each in his and her way, for personal beauty, but also for that charming, high-bred insouciance of youth to which oven the most churlish of us cannot deny that the good gifts of fortune seem especially due.

Yet it-was at this moment that one lady was saying to another on the gallery of the hotel which they had left behind "It is foolish to be sorry for people who are nothing to one but I confess I am really very sorry for Douglas Tremaine. He is engaged to Ross Beverley and passionately in Jbve with her, vet see how she is flirting with that ladykiller cousiu of his!" "When Greek meets Groek, we may basure that nothing very serious wiil come to pass," answorcd tiro other with a shrug. "If Ross Beverley is a coquette of the first water, everybody in society knows that Gerald Tremaine

a notori

ous flirt, so it is not likely that they will bo able to harm each other. But I confess I, too, am sorry for Douglas Tremaine," she went on. "Why is it he does not soe that the girl is only going to marry him for his money "Men are such fools!" said the first speaker, with a subtle mixture of philosophy and contempt—"especially men love. Ho was here a few weeks ago, and she absolutely flirted before his eyes •without his seeming aware of it in the least.". "Not as she is flirting now, howevor." "Not quite to such an extent, perhaps, but openly enough, I assure you. As fur as this allair is concerned, it was not on the tapis then. Unless I am mistaken, Gerald Tremaine arrived the very dav his cousin left."

And it has been going on ever since?" "Ever since, as openly as you see it now." "I wonder Mrs. Beverley is not uneasy. She made the match with Douglas Tromaine, you know." "I think she is a little uneasy, but she is not a woman to show what she feels, and I fancy Ross is not altogether such a pliant tool in her mothers hands ss she was during her first soason." "It will beau evil day for Ross, with all her beauty and style, if she should rally throw Douglas Tremaine 6verboard for such a man as his cousin."

It was now the turn pf the other to h'' 'Hirliflw

l&wir

rowing to and fro, but even the most vapid laugJUer sounded musical as it came tloatlng over the still water and the lake was so winding that when Tremaine pulled around a bend, almost like that of a river, Vhey found the magical stillness of the dying day undisturbed by any presence save their own. 'Then the young man rested on his oars and looked—not at the lovely evening scene full of soft shadows and gold on lights, but at the fair, thoughtful face gazing half absently into the water, through which a white band was trailing. "What are you thinking of so deeply?"' he askod. "I never saw you look so grave before." ••Was I looking grave?"she asked, glancing up, "How inconsiderate in me! Looking grave in company Is like talking of old age or death—a thing to be always avoided. Now" (laughing faint Iv), "I look more like myself, don't If" "You look not at *11 wore like yourself," he answered. "You are laughing only with vonr lips, not with your eyes.

They aro gray® as eyer.

If I am not im

TERRE

pertinent I should like to know what change has come over them." "You are impertinent!" she answered, flushing impetuously. "My eyes are nothing to yon. Let them alone!" Then, after a short pause, "Forgive me if I am rude, butl—I have been much tried to-, day." "By whom?" he asked, quickly. "I should think you might know^by whom," she answered, bitterly.

Apparently Gerald Tremaine did know. He set his line until his mouth looked like a straight line under the fair moustache overshadowing it, and rowed for several minutes with an energy which sent them'skimming far over the water. Then suddenly he relaxed his speed, and leaning forward across the oars, spoke quickly, almost hoarsely. "Ross," he said, "don't you see that this cannot go on? Sooner or later it must end, and the quesiion for you to answer is, How

Ross Beverley started. Far as she had gone with this man in the flirting which they both understood so well, she had not forgotten that she was engaged to his cousin, and she had not given him any right to speak to her like this. Therefore her brown eyes opened on him full of amazed hauteur. "You forget yonrself, Mr. Tremaine," she said. "What have I done or said that you speak to me thus?" "Nothing, according to the code of th world in which you and I live," answered Tremaine, a little bitterly. "Don't fancy that I suppose so. Don't fancy that I do not appreciate just how little your smiles and tones and words have meant. I have played the game too often," with a laugh as bitter as his words, "not to know all about it by this time."

Ross Beverley glanced at nim with a somewhat startled expression on her fair face. Somehow the handsome, lan guid hero of drawing-room flirtation did not exactly look like himself at that moment. There was a light of his resolution on his face which seemed to transform him even to the familiar eyes gazing at him. She spoke, however, without showing any appreciation of this in her voice. "You know as well as I do that this is folly," she said. "Grant that I have been amusing myself have not you been amusing yourself also? It will not do for you and me," with a laugh as bitter as his own,"to reciprocate charges on thai score. The burden of my life is and has been very much the burden of yours."

And each equally unworthy," he said, almost sternly. "We are both conscious of it, and it may be that there is reason in such a consciousness to think that we are both formed for something better." .Speak for yourself," she answered, coldly. "I am formed for nothing tetter. It has been my life from the beginning—it will be my life to the end.s You," with a sudden flash coming into her beautiful eyes, "are a man, ana your life is your own to make what you please. Btit I—what has ever been within my reach but what I am now "Has my life been mine to make what I pleased he asked, quietly. "I scarcely think so. I was born to it, and I have never had energy or hope enough to change it."

Self-respect might have given you both," she said, with a certain quick vehemence, as much unlike Ross Beverly's usual calm as the earnest man before her was unlike the Gerald Tremaine whom "society" knew. t'No," he said quietly. "Something more than was neeaed. An impulse ana a motive were necessary to change the whole course and meaning of the existence.: I long since abandoned all hope of. them. I long since thought that nothing in life could give thewr to me, but they have come at last. Do I need to tell you how? he went on passionately, aftera minute. "You have worked one miracle at least in your life, Ross Boverley. You have transformed an Idle sybarite into a man, ancTnow I ask, what do you mean to do with him "Must I take the transformation on trust?" asked Ross' the faint stain of color on her lovely face deeping as she spoke.

No," he answered, flushing sharply under the incredulity of her tone. "I will ask yon to takef nothing on trust. Wait a little, only a little, Ross, and 1 will prove to you what I can do for your sake." "For my sake!" Again those large brown eyes opened on him full of haughty surprise. Are you rehearsing a melodrama, Mr. Tremaine? If not, I aqa at a loss to conceive why you should think it necessary to do anything^ the sake of a woman who in les?Jfhan wife?"m0UthS

WU1 136

Inri

?W' cousin's

T^ey were cruel Words anJ

she

hor

ey08

fastened full

™nf -ly his changing face. AlfoV ..stinctively he put up nis hand as -Avard off the dIow.

Jusb!" he said, hoarsely. "For ven's sake, don't say that again, v!" He leaned forward with a look fch intense passion in his eyes that

Ross Beverley shrank back half rhted. "1 donH know whether or here is a tiger in most men, but I ure there is one in me. You ktyfw much I love you. No—don't be 1! Don't think that I mean to ask you love me. I have no right to at, have I You would not answer

I were to do it, would you Well, •snot mattter. I respect yourennent that far at least. But I lovo

My God! are there no strong

in which to say it? I love you! -y this love I swear to yon that you never marry Douglas Tremaine I" is doubtful whether a prouder or a woman than Ross Beverley ever but she absolutely quailed before impassioned vehemence of those is. She had seen men in many dif\l phasesjof the passion which is' their ter—had seen them pathetic, reichful, passionate and indignant— she had never seen a man so thor'ily, roused, so fiercely in earnest, as roan before her. **Qk?rald," she said, calling him for the first time, and quite unconsciously, by his name, "what do you mean? Is it generous to talk to me like this when I am quite in your power—when you can say what you please, sure that 1 can not

a minute

quite humoiy. "it was not generous but oh, Ross, a man does not think of generosity when he sees the treasure of his heart,* the only thing on earth he ever madly desired, passing beyend his reach for ever."

She did not answer him perhaps because she could not. A mighty wave rose up in her white throat, and for a moment the wooded mountains and the glassy lake seemed blurred by a sadden mist. "What must lie, must be," she said, after a while, with a little gasp. "The laws of life do not change or turn aside because their workings are likely to crush one or two useless people, like you and me. My God!"—she clasped her slender hands together and shivered all over in the warm summer air—"they talk of the sufferin those who hew

She flushed suddenly and painfully. "That isone kind of dishonor,"said she with a heavy sigh "I—I have long made up my mind to that! but this is quite different." "Is it any worse?" "It seems so, at least it seems more utferly heartless and unprincipled. "It is not!" he said, fiercely. "But even if it were, what then What is a shadow more or less of dishonor when the happiness of both our lives is at stake If you marry Douglas, will it matter to him that he was forced to wait a few moutlis longer for you If you do not marry him, will ho not have bad six months of happiness of which, God knows, I would deprive him if I could Ross"—he leaned over her and seized her passive hands—"do you not see that this is the turning-point of your, life and of mine? One word—oh, my' darling, only one word! Pledge me your faith that you will wait for me six months!"

She looked up at him, and the spell of his passionate, pleading eyes, his eager, handsome face, swept away her last shred of resolution. Almost before she knew what she was doing she uttered all that he asked.

I promise you," she said. "I pledge my faith I will wait for you six months!"

CHAPTER II.

One week later, Gerald Tremaine was back in the city where his life was principally spent, and in the office of an eminent lawyer who chanced to bean intimate friend of bis own. It wa&fifeftl' and the two men wp SiSoEing and talking, whiles ''paper, evidently of a legal natura-#fay open on a table before them. f-lt is a queer affair altogether," Frank Church, the lawyer, was saying. "I confess I don't understand it, Tremaine. If my professional opinion is worth a stiver, you may believe that any court of law would allow your claim on the first reading of the deed but what the devil has induced you to keep it ought of sight all these,year8 I cannot imagine!" 'I wonder if you would understand if I were to tell you said Tremaine,(looking at him meditatively through a cloud of Dlue smoke. 'Thsnks for the doubt,"Jsaid the other, dryly. "My intellect may not be particularly brilliant, but still I fancy it is up to anything you may have to say." "I wonder if you would think me most fool or lunatic?" Tremaine pursued, calmly. "Anyhow, there's a proverb which advises us to tell our whole case to our lawyer and our doctor, isn't there? So I shall tell mine, with the single proviso that it goes no farther." "If you are in doubt on that point, I would advise you not to

HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING

Why don't they reserve their compassion for those who, born and reared in luxury, have no alternative but that of selling liberty and self-respect to secure it?"

H*e made no reply. What could he say In the sharp agony of her tone, more even than her words, he read the whole story of the bitter struggle through which she had passed but how could ne—be who had cast his life utterly away, he who had nothing save property to offer any woman—now could he dare to blame this fragile girl that she followed (the teachings and traditions of her class? After a long pause he spoke, more to himself than to her. "They say that there comes an hour in every man's life when his wasted opportunities gather like furies to tear his heart. I think that hour has come to me now." "You will forget it all after a little while," said Ross, looking across the water. "You know," (a faint little laugh) "people like us forget everything so easily. You will be ready to laugh at your folly by—by Christmas." "You don't think that," he said, grave-

You know better." Then, passionately "Oh, Ross, Ross, for God's sake give me one chance, one hope, to win you! You are going to marry Douglas for his wealth. Wait, defer your marriage only one year, and see if I cannot be sufficiently on the high-oad to justify you in marrying me." "You area man of the world," said Ross, quietly. "You know as well as I do that fortunes are not made in a day, no, nor yet in a year. If you gave me anything at all, it could only be a promise of fortune, and I am not fit to.be the wife of a struggling man." "Not if you loved him, Ross "No," she said, bitterly. "Even love can not make one forget the training of a whole life, I have been reared to be the show-piece of a rich man's wealth I am fit for nothing else on all God's earth— for poverty last and least of all." "Then." said he, while his face sud denly paled, and an expression came into his eyes which she had never seen before—a sort of reckless, defiant look "give me six months, and I swear to you that I will be a rich man too 1" "How is that possible?" she asked, looking at him steadily. "Never mind how it is possible," he answered doggedly. "Only promise me —only pledge yourself to remain uhmar ried for six months the rest lies with 3." 'But you have forgotten my engage meut," said she, overawed, despite herself, by the singular confidence and impetuosity of his manner. "How can I be so dishonorable as to ask Douglass to wait six months, that anothar man may have the opportunity to marry me "Is it more dishonorable than to marry him, caring no more for him than for the dust under your feet he asked.

Church, still dryly. "Nonsense:" said the other, laughing. "Smooth your ruffled plumes, man I never doubted for a minute but that you were as safe as the church steeple, If you are to manage the matter for me —and you have promised to do that, haven't you ?—it would be a shabby return to keep you in the dark. So"—" a minute's pause—"heregoes for the only true and authentic story of the Mysterious Bequest or, The Purloined Deed."

Hesfoke lightly, but Frank Church had a keen lawyer's well-trained eye, and he saw one or two significant tokens which proved that beneath all this lightness no inconsiderable degree of nervous hesitation was at work. "It's an awkward story to tell," he thought. "I'll give him a start." So he spoke aloud, with just sufficient interest to redeem his manner from careless indifference: "How long has it been in your possession, anyway? 'Several yearsr is rather an indefinite way of talking Can't you come nearer to a date that?" "I can give you an exact date." the other answered, flashing a little. "Do you remember four years ago, when the final crash in my affairs came? Of course yau do, for, considering that I was neither a marquis nor a duke, a prettier case of capital completely con verted into dukesjand drakes was'never so®!. You had helped me through many scrapes, Frank, but you shook your bead then. You could do nothing for

yo" »id, except to advise me, if I

wan^d

to save anything out of the

wreck, to apply at once to Douglas. Now, as you may recollect, I hesitated

iMiuBWKT—w very much to apply to him. It was not rings of the poor, of because I feared a repulse, but becara I ood and draw water. 1 felt as if he had aWiv dime

enough for me if I had been his brother, much less his cousin. He"—there was a slight catch in the speaker's throat here —"he always was the most generous fellow in the world, especially to me. You were at school with us, Church you must remember how he never let an opportunity slip for doing me any service. And what he was at school, that he was in after life. Ipan't tell how often he stayed off the ruin* recklessness brought on, until at last, when the worst came, I felt as if I reallyjcould not make up my mind to face him with a further demand for aid but he"—another slight pause—"he heard of my difficulties and came to me at once. He would hear of no remonstrance whatever. He em bar rassed himself—I have learned that since —by withdrawing money from certain investments he had on hand to redeem my unlucky property, pay my mountain weight of debt, and once more[make me a free man, even if an impoverished one. Well"—blowing a perfect cloud of smoke—"you know all that. Now-comes the point. After these business arrangements were completed, he insisted on my accompanying him down tohiscountiyplace—my grandfather's old seat, you know—as a sort of diversion for my mind. It was just in the height of the shooting season, so I did not object to leaving bills and duns and creditors behind, and going for a crack or two at the patridges. It was a few mornings after I reached there that, going into the library for something, I found Douglas looking over a lot of old papers. 'I wish you would come and help me here,' he said. I remember this very tone and look, as if it was yesterday. 'My lawyer has been tormenting me to death for some old deeds which I can't find high or low.' He described the deeds in question, and I, having nothing better to do just then, set to work to help him in the search. I don't think I ever saw as many old papers together before. It was like the famous needle in the equally famous hay stack, to look for any particular paper, I can 11 you. Douglas was called off on ethdr business before long, but I kept on, partly because I was interested, partly from sheer idleness. And in the midst of the yellow old records I found this p'4 "Well?" said Church, after awhile for the speaker paused and seemed to have no intention of going on. "Well," leaning over the table and spreading out the paper, "you see what it is. A deed from my grandfather to my father—.signed, sealed and witnessed —be stowing on him the whole of those lands in the Southwest which have since the date of this deed risea so enormously in value and made Douglas' wealth what it is. You may be sine that my breath was absolutely taken away when glanced at it. Then I laughed at my self at the idea that such 'old rubbish' being worth anything, and I was about to thrust them back into the pigeon-hole from which I had drawn it when something a sort of instinct, made me stop. Perhaps it might have a meaning and a value, after all. Perhaps in looking over the did papers Douglas mieht find it, and think it necessary to make some sort of stir and trouble about reparation. What ate you smiling at, Church? Do you think that I am deceiving myself or you? By the God who bears me," bringing his hand down with startling emphesis on the table, "it is not so! Tue idea of profiting by the chance which put the papers into my hands never for aoccuri

a second occured to me. I thought only of Douglas. I remembered only all that ,ved him—the debt of money which might perhaps be paid, the debt of kind nes3 could never be' paid—and determined to spare him any knowledge that the property which he waS enjoying was not legally his own." "You were a quixotic fool!" growled Church. "Still, I am not sure that in your position I should not have felt Very much as you did. But I don't understand yet how or why a deed of your father's should have remained unknown and undiscovered among your grandfather's papers." 'Haven't I explained that to you yet? It seemed very clear to me when 1 came to think it over. You see, Douglas' father was the 'canny' member of the family, and my father was the black sheep—not such a black sheep as

I owed him—the debt of money

I havenot a very lively imagination," said Church, dryly. I think that he might have remembered your existance." "I have no doubt but that he would have doneso had he lived: the very fact of his laying aside this deed proves it. But I was a mear child at that time, and very soon afterward he died suddenly and intestate. Douglas' father of course brought in as much of the property as he desired, and among the rest those Western lands. Since then they have risen so enormously in value that they make the chief item in my cousin'slarge

"And all the time they were yours," said Church. "Will you tell me what the devil you meut by keeping this deed and never saying a word about it for so

"I have told you what I meant, said the other, a little doggedly. "Call me a fool if you like, but Icould not make up my mind to injure Douglas after all his kindness to me. I am not mercenary, whatever else I may be," he added vehemently. "Spendthrifts usually pride tbeinselves on despising money, I believe, said Church, coolly. "For my part, I confess to rating it very high, as any man must rate it who has known what it was to make it. I won't ask you what has brought you to a wiser view of things, but I do affirm," laying his hand on the deed, "that this instrument is incontestible, and that hereafter, when people talk of 'the rich Mr. Tremaine, they will be more likely to mean you than your cousin." "Yet I feel as if I was robbing him. "Don't feel any such nonsense, said the lawyer, almost roughly. "Feel on the contrary, that it is he who has been robbing you, though quite unintentionally, I grant. Now," after a moment's pause, "I suppose of course you would prefer a friendly arrangement of the matter .to carrying it into a court of law?" "Infinitely," said Tremaine, eagerly. "Where is your cousin now?" "Down at the Oaks. He"—a sodden crimson flush—"is having the old pl&co repaired and renovated In antidpstlon of—of his wedding."

Humph! It is a pity ^Jnterrupt such an amusement, isn't it? But aii the same I shall take a day to-morrow and go down there with this. I h*v®*° idea that he will hear reason, and spoil a very pretty prospect of a law suit,

MA IT.

"He is the best fellow in the world, and the most reasonable," said Tremaine, moodily. "I dont think it likely that he will make any flight over the matter."

Events proved this prediciment eminently ana just. Douglas Tremaine did not make any fight over resigning this large share of his rich in heritance. Once convinced that the deed presented to him was genuine—and proofs,as it chanced, were easily enough to oDtain—he at once resigned the lands to their new claimant Notwithstanding this, however, it was some time before the cousins met. Douglas was wounded, not by the act that Gerald had claimed his rights, but by the manner in which the claims had been presented, while Gerald, on his part, felt all the constraint which comes from a guilty conscience. He knew only too well that of the two robberies which he meditated it was infinitely the least which has been already accomplished, and he shrank nervously from facing Douglas before the worst was known. Fate, however, had as usual a word tosay in the matter, and it was in rather singular fashion that the two men inetat last.c a

CHAPTER III.

Meanwhile the summer had melted into autumn, and, on one of October's days, that fortunate class which newspaper writers call "the wealth and fashion of the city" were assembled in force (together with a large amount of the unfortunate class who have neither wealth nor fashion) on the famous raceground' of a certain equally famous jocky club. In the sporting world great things were predicted and expected of the races which they had assembled to honor. Apart from the race, the display of splendid equipages and fine plumes was a sight in itself worth witnessing. One of the best appointed carriages on ground was that of Mrs. Beverley, containing herself and her daughter. Round this half a dozen men were gathered—as indeed men gathered about Ross Beverley, let her appear when and where she would—and among the rest was Gerald Tremaine, keeping very determinedly the favored place nearest the beauty's eye and ear. Many people noticed this, but only a a few were shrewd enough to remark, also, that Miss Beverley's manner was somewhat cold to the favored gentleman whose accession to fortune had lately caused a nine days' wonder in society, while' that of her mother was proportionately warm. Yet this was clear enough to the person most concerned, and after the excitement of the races had drawn off all save one admirer, wh« was fain to be content with reporting to Mrs. Beverley what horses had won, Gerald Tremaine found his opportunity to say, eagerly: "Why are you treating me like this, Ross? Why are you so cold, and why have you refused ta see me every time that Ii have called lately? Surely you must know

Avhy

I.4^:

rather incapable than spendthrift. He was alwa^Bjtiajetiter'sTa'vorite, however, not remarkable that he made over these lands—which were brought for little or nothing and purely on peculation—to him in preference to the

Ider brother. Now look at the date of the instrument." "I know that it was executed in '41, just forty years ago." "Exactly aud just one week before mv father was killed by a steamboat accident on the Mississippi. Can't you imagine how the old man thrust this aside, feeling bitterly that his good intentions had borne fruit too late?"

I did not come earlier.

Surely you must be aware that it would have been worse than folly to compromise you in any way before I was cerrain of being able to claim you."

Under her lace veil it is to be feared that Ross Beverley's scarlet lip curled not a little at this. So the man was vain enough to construe, the coldness of her manner to pique at his seeming neglect! She could have laughed in his face—a laugh of mockery that would have made his olood tingle to his fingers' ends—if she had chosen. But, instead of th?t, she merely curled her lip and answered in her silvery even voice: "Am I treating you in any particular way, Mr. Tremaine? If' so, you must pardon me. It has been ao long since I have seen you, that I have had time to forget my old manner aud not time enough to learn anew one. But I should have congratulated you before this on your late accession to fortune, should I not? It is a matter for congratulation, is it not?" *'I hope that you think so," he said, in low voice. "Certainly it would be worth little to me if you did not think so."

Was I not always mercenary?" she asked, bitterly. "Of course it follows, therefore, that I think an accession of tortfKt" the best thing that can happen to anyBtfflfc Yet"—after a short pause —"even I

sh5htt*f'vV0

thought that you

would have hesitated* ^ke Douglas —Douglas, whom you had doped or intended to rob in another way—your stepping-stone to fortune." 'I would make anybody my steppingstone to reach you," he said passionately. "Ross, what do you mean by talking like this? You, who were the cause of it all, can not mean to blame me now "No," she said, in the same low, bitter tone. "I—as you say, very justly—the cause of it all, have no right to Dlame you. Since I put a stone in motion, I cannot quarrel with the destruction which it may have worked. You say that you have been to see me," she went on, abruptly. "When do you mean to aome again?" "That is for you to say," he answered, with a quick flush rising to his face. "God knows, and you know, that I have thought only of you and asserted these rights of mine only for you. The fortune might have lain unclaimed forever if your wee had not shone like a star before me. But, guided by the hope which you gave me last summer, I have fulfilled pledge now it is for yon to fulfill yours." "Very well," she answered, quietly,

aling slightly, however, as he saw "I not know that as yet I have ever failed to fulfill any pledge I ever gave. I cannot ask you to come this evening, because I shall be engaged but to-mor-row. at twelve, I shall probably be alone. Will you come then?" "Most gladly," he answered, eagerly, forgetting in a rush of hope ail that had seemed to discourage him a few minutes before.

And it was juat while this short conversation was in progress that Douglas Tremaine, distant not more than a few hundred yards, bad the satisfaction of overhearing another which afforded him some novel and certainly startling information. It was bis own name which first attracted his attention, spoken by one of two ladies in a pony-phaeton, and before he could remember that it is considered the most highly honorable on such occasions— however, whether "Oonivrmed on Sevenih Page.

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Also as a gargle for Ihc thront as a wash for the pers«n and an a disinfectant for (be house.

A certain remedy again! all contagions diseases.

It neutralizes at once nil noxious odors and and gases. Destroys the germs of diseases and septic (putrescent) Hon linn imureceptibleinthe air or such as have effectcu a lodgment in the throat or on the person.

Perfectly harmless, used internally and externally.

J. H. ZEILIN & CO,

Proprietors, Manufacturing Chemists, Phil Price 50 cts. per bottle. Pint bottle, fl.0U.

The Bad and Worthless

are never imitated or counterfeited. This is especially true of a family medicine, and it is positive prool that the remedy imitated is of the highest valuo. As soon as it had been tested and proved by the whole world that Hop Bitters was the purest, best and most valuable family medicine on earth, many imitations sprung up ^uid began to steal the notices in which the press and people of the country had expressed the merits of H. B., and in every way trying to induce suffering invalids to use their stuff instead expecting to make money on the credit and good name of II. B. Many others started nostrums put up in similar style of H. B., with variously devised names in which the word "Hop" or "Hops" were used in a Avay to induce people to believe thny wero the same as Hop Bitters. All such pretended remedies or cuaes, no matter what their stylo or name is, and especially those with the word "Hop" or "Hops" in their name or in any woy connected with them or their naino, are imitations or counterfeits. Beware of them. Touch none of them. U80 nothing but genuino Hop Bitters, with a bunch or cluster of green Hops on the white label. Trust nothing else. Druggists and dealers are warned against dealing in imitations or counterfeits.

The Great

Consumption Remedyr.

BROWN'S

EXPECTORANT

Baa been tinted in hundreds of cote*, an# never failed to arrest and cure VOX8VMJPTION, if taken in «mo., It Cures Coughs. It Cures Asthma. It Cures Bronchitis. It Cures Hoarseness. It Cures Tightness of the Chest. It Cures Difficulty of Breathing

BROWN'S ExpECjotvW Jn Specially Heeomntended for

It tviU shorten the duration of the dttease wid alleviate the paroxysm of eoufhinq. so an to enable the chU'l to pass through tl without leaving any serious consequences.

PRICE, 50c and $1.00. A. KIEFEB, In an a pi is 2

FBSB

-a *w.

Moore's (Levs Shaped") Sugar \9 Coated

Invaluable to every fanily.

SCALE. Weifhj up toiftlb*. I'ritf, ||,(0, OuuuuUc KoftloCu., Cin'ti, 0.

S O

1 A

.JlNTCn/PRFTEC Shall Arfn M."—MAI.ACII 1. ii

I h0 Natural Wonder* *nl SiHrituarTeachir.ztrfthc CIlM traiolded *nr1 explained, and the beautiful An:i!'£i-sOUIl between the Ru •fKitm «nd theJ«a

I h. Natural Wonder* and SpirltualTe

Herbert Marria, Vvou!.

elearl? traced oat. Anew work by Ker. D.D-.

lull at

Inspiration, Able. Earnest, Brilliati

More interesting than Romance. AGENTS WANTED in mediately. A clear

brUi.

AMftsM

Nothliur Tike it ver onereS..

C. ItCTBDr A CO, OUctnatt, O.

O E I O N O

SEEDS PLANTS

EVEftYTHINBlrtsI

ttd tntlruitimjm VpttiUlt

birr/.

msktef its condensed Gardening Book. Jwjtelt 1 fall tb« latest information know# to the |MM Onr Prott." Malted «ee on appliatioo. I

W/tatt ttatt tn v*st f?rr fttt tax, tkU).

Peter Henderson & Co.,* St 3y^^r^^tj^JWcw_YorkL

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